


In Dreams We Dwell

by shutupeccles



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Bisexual Male Character, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupeccles/pseuds/shutupeccles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbeknownst to the other, Merlin and Arthur experience the same dream. What’s strange is not that the same dream was repeated, for every night is different. It is that each dream is shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams We Dwell

Neither can explain it.

As the phenomenon is never discussed they remain unaware it even needs explaining. They continue to bicker just the same but something is different. Each is somehow more satisfied with their lot and nobody knows why.

Once again, unbeknownst to the other, Merlin and Arthur experience the same dream. What’s strange is not that the same dream was repeated, for every night is different. It is that each dream is shared.

Tonight they meet in a random hallway, sneaking down to the kitchens for a late night snack, pointlessly denying and then admitting their joint purpose for wondering around the castle in night shirts. There are no guards about and Arthur comments on this with disdain. Merlin snorts with amusement, commenting on the lack of discipline instilled by their leader and Arthur slaps him up the back of his head. Merlin’s characteristic grin wavers and Arthur apologises, taking his hand.

They look at their joined hands, wondering why this feels right instead of unfamiliar and then to each other.

“Arthur?” Merlin leans in slightly and Arthur meets him halfway in a mutual kiss that is neither hesitant nor hungry but comfortable and right. No awkwardness follows, nor an insatiable need to get naked on the cold, stone floor. It begins and ends without fuss.

“What shall we pilfer this evening Merlin?”

Chatting cheerily they pile a large dish made of marbled horn with fruit, cheese, bread and smoked meat; fill a ewer with water and down a cup of ale from Cook’s private stores (which Arthur confesses sneaking into since the age of twelve)

“Yours or mine?” Arthur asks.

“Umm...”

“You’ve got to be up earliest tomorrow, so yours?”

Merlin smiles and plants a casual kiss of agreement on Arthur’s lips.

Being a dream, there is no walk from the larder to Merlin’s room; a decision is made and they’re there. Even in reality there is no need to whisper. Merlin became the youngest court physician in Camelot’s history when Gaius passed, shortly before the dreams began. The only time spent with Arthur involves consultations, remedies or discussing the problems of his people. Uther is still King but they are already Arthur’s people. Merlin tells him so and the pride clearly visible in the former manservant’s countenance humbles him. Praise no longer makes him brash or arrogant but reverent and contemplative.

“I would not be what I am without you.”

“Or Gwen.”

“True, but even Guinevere concedes it’s mostly you.”

“Thank you.”

The kisses they share become deeper and more frequent as nights pass but still unfrenzied. It makes Arthur’s whisper more meaningful.

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.’

For the first time they explore each other: looking, touching, breathing, etching every detail into memory. They will never forget what they learn this night. Nor will they mention waking alone with rapid heartbeat making breathing ragged, still feeling the other’s touch on his skin.

 

During the days they go about their business as usual; exchanging banter, insults, greetings or information as each situation requires. Arthur successfully courts Guinevere. Merlin sits by the lake communing with the spirit of Freya. They appear to live further apart than when Merlin was his servant but that is untrue, even though the dreams do not occur every night.

 

This night after their usual casual discussion Merlin touches Arthur in a different way. Slender hands focus between Arthur’s legs, stroking and stretching his most sensitive areas. Arthur’s hands hold Merlin’s head close so they can whisper, kiss and gaze passionately.

“Uh Merlin. Uh yes. How do, how do you do that? Uh-u-uh-uh.” His thoughts are only of how unbelievably enticing and satisfying Merlin’s fingers feel around and inside him, especially when they move at the same time.

This time Merlin’s kiss is frenzied.

“Come for me Arthur. You feel wonderful; you do, so unbelievably good, now I want to feel you come.”

Merlin adjusts his grip to take both erections in one hand and tugs them together as he rubs against Arthur, whose hands move to help support Merlin’s weight which is currently resting on one forearm.

Arthur closes his eyes as Merlin watches the action between them and somehow, because it is fantasy, they know precisely when to look, find each other’s eyes and then they come. For the first time their contact leads to a vocal, messy climax that does not simply stop existing immediately after ejaculation.

The scents of sweat, breath and spillage fill the air. Gasps, slippery noises and thunderous hearts are all clearly audible. They taste each other’s lips and tongues. Arthur holds Merlin’s head again, pushing with shoulder and hips to turn them over, kissing and pressing against him until they are both empty. In this dream they fall asleep together, messy, musky and murmuring phrases they will never dare while awake.

They wake in the morning clean and alone; physically spent yet invigorated as they go about their usual day. Neither breath nor pulse quicken when they pass each other, as if nothing is different.

Yet something is, perhaps everything.

Merlin’s gift is so strong he has only to think of needing something and it will be there: smack his lips in thirst - a cup of water is at hand, _that wasn’t there before_ ; hungry grumble – a pear, _pears are not in season_ ; boot has a hole – _apparently not_. Not evil or momentous seepages of magic but still liable to get him killed, or worse reveal themselves to Arthur. He has chosen to keep hiding until knowledge of his talents no longer endangers the one those talents are destined to protect, although he truly hates the deceit and often questions his own decision.

Arthur has chosen to avoid staining his intended bride’s honour, by mutual consent of course. Resisting is more difficult than he anticipated, especially once he found himself without Merlin’s constant conversation to distract him. Merlin may be terrible at many things but no-one in Camelot surpasses his talent for unwittingly drawing attention to himself. Arthur dreaded the loss of his friend’s service most keenly when his father appointed him as physician and the probable loss of their closeness even more.

These dreams originate from their mutual desire to preserve their unique connection. During the day they have separate duties and feminine beloveds; nocturnally they have each other yet are still unaware of this simple truth. Each begins with sharing experiences, opinions, some kind of food. Arthur marvels that all his pillows remain in the morning, convinced that his slumbering self has surely eaten one while imagining it to be a portion of pheasant. Merlin laughs, and as they are spending this particular dream on Arthur’s bed, hits him across the head with one of the many pillows. Arthur throws it back at him.

“Make sure you count them. Wouldn’t want you wondering why you’ve suddenly gotten fat.”

“About those sausages...you were filching them for the Druid girl weren’t you?”

Merlin tells Arthur a little about Freya and about his love for her without venturing near his personal talents.  He does not worry that Arthur will be jealous as the world knows he still loves Gwen. The kisses they share this night are different; knowing what they feel for each other differs from what they feel for Freya and Gwen but is no less important.

Arthur touches Merlin with his lips and tongue as well as his hands. Merlin calls out in astonishment at the path taken by the prince’s mouth: kissing, licking and sucking all the forbidden places in turn, leaving his burning manhood for last. The crested wave of Merlin’s tip is licked with short flicks of the royal tongue and it is Merlin’s turn to hold his dream lover’s head and declare “Oh-uh, oh, oh Arthur, oh.” His sounds become longer, deeper as Arthur slides his mouth around the smooth head and just below. Sword-master hands reverently stroke and press everything below commanding lips as the fair head tilts and turns to increase Merlin’s pleasure. Arthur takes one hand off Merlin but only to touch himself to the rhythm of Merlin’s climactic chant. The texture and taste of the sudden arrival in Arthur’s mouth cause him to gag and he pulls back, leaving one hand to finish the job. One of Merlin’s hands curls around Arthur’s while the other tries to steer him upwards.

“With me,” Merlin husks and Arthur understands.

He slides up so they lie facing each other, hands on themselves and on their partner, eyes closed. Merlin is finished but they keep touching him as they pump Arthur together. His lips are half an inch from Merlin’s and he feels the air pulse in staccato breaths against them. Merlin devours Arthur’s mouth and his sounds as his hand accepts Arthur’s orgasm.

“I love you Merlin,” he kiss-whispers the words.

“I know you do,” Merlin teases with a smile.

They rest their foreheads together and close their eyes.

 

...To wake up alone.

Arthur figures out first that it is not his dream alone but theirs, even before he marries Guinevere and she asks “where did you disappear to?”

“Nowhere, sleep walking.”

“Does it happen often?”

“Sometimes. Not always, nothing to worry about.”

“Anything could happen to you.”

“Do you honestly think Merlin would let anything horrible happen to me?”

His wife laughs at how protective they remain of each other.

“Does he know about it?”

“I should hope so.” Arthur has yet to mention his theory to Merlin, knowing what implications may lay ahead for his dearest friend but he cannot help believing he must have some sense of what occurs.

“Make sure he does.”

 

This time Arthur has no wish to talk first. He normally lets things happen of their own accord but tonight he concentrates before sleep, hoping for some control over the night ahead.

When the dream starts he’s in Merlin’s bed and they are already kissing and undressing.

“Why haven’t we...? Mmm, Merlin can we...can we please...?’

Merlin softly asks “do you want to, or do you want me to?”

“Whatever, however you want.”

Merlin is well aware Arthur’s hands have not stopped moving across his skin, his eyes have not blinked or turned away through the whole exchange. He has given Merlin his complete trust. Merlin does not want this strange phenomenon to end. Arthur blatantly rings one finger and thumb from the base of Merlin’s shaft to the tip and back again, making him harder and the decision is made.

As in the past there is no transition. Merlin is suddenly lying on Arthur’s back, forcing him flat on the narrow bed. His right foot is on the floor, providing leverage to push him deeper into Arthur. His left hand holds Arthur’s hair while his right pushes and pulls the ticking mattress as he rocks. Nothing has prepared him for this, the heat, the pressure, the exhilaration and he rocks faster, urgently as if coming inside Arthur is the sole purpose of his existence.

“God Arthur, Arthur yes.”

“Merlin –uh, fill me-more, deeper, oh god more!”

“Arthur God Arthur godArthurgodarthurgod,”

“Uh uh”

Merlin’s words follow the percussion of their bodies “don’t come don’t come Arthur not yet not yet not yet _oh God yes_!” He stops to pulse inside him, emptying rapidly then rotating his hips as he whispers vulgar phrases of praise against Arthur’s sweaty neck then finds himself on his back. His legs are over Arthur’s shoulders, hands stretched above his head with Arthur pressing them into the mattress with his own. Their fingers curl tightly together and Merlin’s hips flip in time with Arthur’s thrusts to achieve maximum impact.

Arthur makes no mental comparison between this lover and his bride. He is completely Merlin’s or completely Guinevere’s in heart, mind, body and soul. At this moment he is Merlin’s, lost in the feel of him hot and tight; lost in the friction, the clutching; the way Merlin rocks against him, around him, with him, beneath him.

“Merlin you’re, uh, ohh, yes.”

Lost in the sounds: gasping, moaning, _oooh Arthur my god, again, again again_ ; sweat causing suction as he slides against him; bed shaking beneath them and scraping on the stone floor.

“Please Arthur, please. Now, now, now,”

“no-no-no-no-no-no,” Arthur begs as he comes reluctantly, not wanting it to be over in case this first is also the last. “ ** _No!_** ”

 

“Arthur? What’s wrong?” Guinevere looks in alarm at her sobbing husband and comforts him with soft words and a supportive embrace as he clings silently to her.

The connection was broken deliberately, too soon, but by whom?

 

Merlin wakes with both hands grasping air above his head, guilt strangling his heart and tears on his face. He knows his emotions and magic are beyond his control and is afraid for more than his life.

 

Now things are wrong.

Dreamless nights wear on the pair. There is no opportunity to talk at night or during the day as Merlin avoids Arthur and Guinevere for weeks until the king lies dying.

“Where’s your husband?” He has been unable to speak his name without physical discomfort or think it without emotional torment. His dreams of his friend had become so vivid, increasingly real and he has suppressed every thought of him since that last one to prevent the prince suddenly appearing in his bed in the manner of pears to satisfy his appetite.

“Looking for you,” Gwen is visibly concerned for her friend. His continued absence and hesitant address worry her as much as the change in Arthur. “Merlin, what’s wrong? His sleepwalking has stopped but something’s not right, it’s more than concern for Uther...”

“Sleepwalking,” Merlin murmured. _Don’t panic, could be coincidence._

“He promised to talk to you about it weeks ago! Why am I not surprised?”

“Hm? Never mind. I’ll be with Uther.”

Gwen watches him dash away, wondering what husband and friend are not telling her.

 

Arthur arrives at his father’s bedside moments after Merlin.

“You were looking for me.” _It must be serious._

“Someone has stolen key ingredients for the tonic that has been making your father’s condition bearable these past months.” He steers the prince away from the king.

“Why not simply alert the guard? Why wait for me?” Frustration, confusion and anger seethe beneath his calm exterior.

“There’s also a book describing how to make the tonic, among other things – a prohibited book, of ...” he doesn’t finish as Arthur nods his comprehension.

“Describe what’s missing. I’ll have only illiterate guards perform the search; lord knows they’re in the majority.”

Merlin detailed what they needed to find.

“Do what you can for my father without endangering yourself. We’ll talk about this tonight. Meet me on the parapet, you know the one. Sleep well.”

“Arthur!”

But he was already alerting the guard and leading the search.

 

Merlin is suddenly beside him, looking over the scene. Instead of night it is afternoon. The air smells of sunlit dust and carries the gentle scuffling sounds of life.

“I didn’t think you would come. Do you know why it happened?”

Merlin chose the safest answer.

“Someone wants your father dead.”

“I had figured that much out on my own, thank you Merlin. I’m not completely dense. You know that isn’t what I meant ...Will he live?”

“Not much longer. Even with the tincture he has a half year at most,” he pauses, expecting Arthur to say ‘how convenient for you’ and start accusing him of all sorts of nonsense. When his friend remains silent, Merlin adds “I’m sorry.”

At the same time Arthur asks “Why? Sorry – what?”

It is such a typical Merlin/Arthur moment that Merlin smiles with a small chuckle.

“That’s better,” Arthur smiles back, puts an arm around Merlin’s waist and his chin on the nearest shoulder. “How long have you been learning magic? Tell me everything.”

They embrace eagerly, sustained by the contact and he listens attentively as Merlin does.

 

Arthur stretches pleasantly and kisses his wife good morning with a smile. Nothing of _that_ nature happened with Merlin last night but Guinevere’s slight frown dampens his mood a little.

“What?”

“Sleepwalking again. I never notice you leaving or coming back. You’re just...gone.”

“I always come back.”

“Talk to Merlin about it.”

“Not today. Today and tonight are about you.”

He reassures her so effectively that Gwen completely forgets about talking to Merlin herself about Arthur’s night wanderings.

 

“It’s just a dream,” Merlin huffs.

They lie on one side, Merlin curved behind and pushing into his recently crowned king. Arthur impales himself further with an exclamation of intense pleasure.

“- a dream,” Merlin repeated, marvelling at the feel of Arthur around and against him. It has been so long since their frighteningly fantastic first (and until now only) time, too long.

“No...not quite...oh...oh god Merlin...yes.”

Merlin chuckles into Arthur’s neck.

Arthur turns his neck to kiss him vigorously.

“I don’t know how but it’s not entirely a dream. Next time I’ll prove it to you.”

“Next time? What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”

“Not think, know. Trust me.”

“Completely.”

 

The past sun-filled weeks in Camelot have been filled with public proclamations, celebrations, dedications, inebriations and fornications – the last two without their new King and Queen. Arthur prefers his fornications, inebriated or otherwise, to be entirely private thank you very much. Not that there’s been a lot of time or inclination for that of late.

Gwen is relieved his nocturnal perambulations seem to have diminished without negative side effect. She is more than content to see that her husband and friend seem to have some silent, jovial challenge going on between them, much preferable to the silent solemnity that had arisen before Uther’s death. She occasionally catches Merlin looking strangely at Arthur’s back only to chuckle to himself and turn his attention elsewhere. Arthur seems to score a point in whatever game they’re playing by winking at Merlin across the corridor as they pass him. Gwen sees Merlin’s step falter and a crease form between his dark brows in response. Arthur laughs then continues discussing Gwen’s idea for an annual farmers’ picnic to celebrate final harvest as if the exchange did not occur. If Gwen was not so obviously beloved by her king she may have been suspicious and certainly infuriated by the note her husband sends to the warlock during supper: _Tonight_.

 

“How do we do this?” Merlin asks, suddenly seated next to Arthur in a sealed and unused bedchamber. “Why?”

“I should think ‘why’ was obvious a year ago or at least with our first kiss. ‘How’ is what I was hoping you would know.”

“I think, no, I _know_ magic is involved. That time... **that** time when I forced myself to wake up and ...”

“So _you_ did it? I thought at first it was Guinevere, that she somehow found out but she obviously hasn’t.”

“Magic just makes it feel real, nothing actually...” he can’t finish because Arthur is kissing him.

“Definitely feels real. In fact it feels more substantial every time.” Arthur is enjoying feeling substantial Merlin as he speaks.

“This can’t go on. Gwen-“

“-knows how much I love her.”

“Truly? Even after this?”

“Have you stopped loving Freya?”

“No...”

“See?”

“Oh.”

“I want to try something.”

“I think what we’re already doing is enough Arthur.”

“That’s not what I meant, though I do hope to continue doing these things with you.” He holds out a blood-red rose, the colour of which reminds Merlin of Freya’s tattered dress. “See this? I went to sleep holding it under my pillow. If you wake up with it tomorrow you take it to the lake and give it to Freya. If you wake up without it then this is nothing but an odd set of dreams that you will never mention because as much as you claim to hate keeping secrets, you seem to accumulate them quite readily. If it _is_ with you in the morning you must let me know. Promise me.”

“I promise. Sometimes I wonder if you have a hidden magic far more powerful than mine.”

Arthur kisses him and lies down, stroking a finger up Merlin’s suddenly naked back. “Now about these things we do...”

 

A note arrives for the king during breakfast: _Ack!_

Gwen smiles affectionately as Arthur chuckles to himself, only Merlin makes him laugh in that particular way. They truly are adorable some times. She makes no enquiry as he writes his reply: _talk tonight_.

 

“ _Huh, hoh_ , face me Merlin so I can see your eyes when you fill me.”

He pulls out, rolls over Arthur’s sweating body and pushes him onto his back. The dream transitions are gone but the fantasy quality remains.

“You consider this – God Arthur move like that again! God oh god again! Uh-uh,” Arthur does it some more without prompting and Merlin’s eyes half close at the pleasure of it. “uh-uh-uh-uh come-ing, god Arthur, uh- _UHUHN_.”

Arthur comes messily between their gyrating abdomens, praising everything about Merlin he can think of as Merlin continues to slide wetly after his own orgasm.

“You consider this ‘talking’ do you?”

“You say words, as do I. Therefore we talk.”

Merlin chuckles at his lover’s seriously delivered logic.

“I love you Arthur.”

“Wondered when you would get around to that.”

Merlin moves his retracting erection in a stirring motion, causing Arthur to buck beneath him with a moan. The royal knob bounces and expels the last reluctant portion of its load.

“Lord Merlin, you’re magnificent,” he pulls his warlock down for a full-bodied kiss.

The sorcerer withdraws breathlessly in order to lie completely against him and Arthur tangles their legs together.

“How often can we talk like this?” Arthur asks in an earnest hush.

“You want this to continue?”

Arthur’s satisfaction is suddenly less confident.

“Don’t you?”

“Only until I die,” Merlin replies honestly and Arthur presses his lips solidly against the pulse in his throat.

“Full moon.”

“Hmm?” Merlin is too distracted by the feel of Arthur and his own admission. Even in his dreams he had been too afraid to acknowledge how he felt while Arthur had been completely free from the start. Perhaps that is why it took him so much longer to recognise the truth of what they had been sharing.

“Every full moon, gives us three nights and a natural phenomenon to explain my ‘sleepwalking’.”

“About that...”

“It only happens on nights when we’re together, when we both want to be together.”

“I can’t control it Arthur. What if we woke up together?”

“Would that be so bad? There must be some mystical thing we can claim makes me temporarily dangerous so I must be locked away somewhere for the Queen’s safety with my warlock protector vigilantly preventing me from hurting myself.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

“ _A lot_ ,” Arthur confesses as he traces around Merlin’s hand with one finger. “At least once I’d like to find you next to me in the morning.” He looks across to see Merlin staring at him intently. “Please?”

“In your dreams,” Merlin quips before promising to help make all their dreams come true. 


End file.
